


Seeing the Doctor

by genyorins



Category: Noli Me Tangere & Related Works - José Rizal
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, Not Beta'd, based off a tumblr prompt, because i have no originality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 05:07:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15812022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genyorins/pseuds/genyorins
Summary: Prompt: Person A refuses to go to the doctor because Person B is a young and hot med intern.





	Seeing the Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Stacey/@alamangoes! 

 

Isagani counted all the negative things within the clinic hallway, mentally cursing himself for staying so late to finish that essay. He only believed Juanito this once. Tadeo’s suggestion that Isagani was secretly harbouring a phobia against the medical profession strengthened the tired law student’s resolve to walk into the clinic, knees shaking, phone in hand. He was _not_ , and will never admit, in any form _scared_ of doctors, nurses, or lab technicians. Noticing that his mind was wandering again, Isagani steeled himself. The hard, uncomfortable chair, the smell of disinfectant, the middle aged woman who with polished black high heels stared down at the closest nurse she could find. _I paid twice as much to have my tonsils seen_ , her logic went, and that she _deserved to be seen first._ Isagani clenched his fists and focused on his laboured breathing and his tired legs. Things were going good. Makaraig offered to pay for whatever bills would come up- despite his protests- on the condition that he doesn’t stress about it and inflame his already acute illness. Juanito reluctantly agreed to chip in after Placido urged him. Paulita accepted his Goldilocks mamon. 

 

He snapped himself awake. He wanted sleep to cradle his entire being. He focused on the issues. His head was spinning and there was pressure in between his temples. He closed his eyes. It happened so slowly and so deliberate Isagani felt his ever alert senses shutting down rythmically with the pulse in his neck. He fell asleep. 

 

_“Mr Isagani-“_

 

The voice feels fluid, calming, yet alerting in how the words sharply tapered near the end. Isagani opened one eye reluctantly and spotted a young man dressed in a lab coat looking back and forth the clinic’s hallway. His wavy black hair was clipped right over the ears. Isagani’s eyes trailed to the black button-down that the young doctor wore, to his pressed black slacks- 

 

“Mr Isagani—?” 

 

Isagani raised his hand up reluctantly. “I- I’m here,” he mutters, embarrased. “I fell asleep.” He was unsure as to why he was staring the doctor down; there was nothing to be intimidated or nervous about. 

The doctor smiled. “That’s all right,” he holds Isagani’s shoulder to pull him inside his office- “it’s just a simple check up.” Isagani’s brain short-circuited at the suggestion. His eyes look downwards towards the name tag. 

 

_DOCTOR BASILIO_

_MEDICAL INT_

 

Isagani quickly filled in the words. Medical intern, first name Basilio. _Doctor Basilio_. His illness seemed to worsen and he found himself stumbling into Basilio’s arms and swiftly onto the plush patient’s chair. Basilio sat himself onto his own and turned his computer on. “Tell me more about your symptoms, Isagani.” 

Isagani swallowed. “-Yes,” he started, as the Doctor started typing away, his eyes expressive with concentration and fingers practiced,“I’ve been cold. The type you get when you’re fresh out of the shower and a wind catches you-” he refused to finish his sentence- “and tired. Walking was difficult enough. My knees, my legs, it’s as if my bones have been displaced- and I’m _tired_ , Doctor. I fell asleep.” 

 

Basilio flashed a smile. “Late night?” 

 

Isagani scratched the nape of his neck. “Aha. About that. I have a friend. Juanito, and twelve thousand words to type before seven. PM, that is. He told me to dump three teaspoons of the strongest coffee he could find and to wash it down with two teaspoons of white sugar. We did this about three times and I drank it all.” 

The Doctor smirked. “Did that _work?_ ” 

“I finished my essay five hours before it was due,” Isagani rambled. “I couldn’t sleep. I haven’t slept. I did everything. I dropped by Goldilocks to buy ensaymadas, mamon, brazo de mercedes. Nothing worked.” 

 

Basilio stayed silent. The type of silent that signalled he finished his train of thought long ago. 

“I think you’re tired,” he said slowly, enunciating each word. “-But to be sure, I’m checking your pulse quickly. Too much coffee can stress your heart.” 

 

Isagani was confident that his pulse was normal. He learnt to control it after years of argument and debate with other students and his professors. He didn’t know why it sped up as Basilio edged towards him, cool metal stethoscope perched in between his ears and cradled in his palms. He pressed It against Isagani’s back and from his periphery he swore he saw a smirk. He swore he heard a chuckle.

 

“Hmm, it’s faster than average.” 

 

Isagani sighed in defeat as he felt his heart skip.

 

“Must be the coffee,” Basilio finished and Isagani pulled the back of his shirt down. 

“Yeah.” 

Basilio jumped onto his swivel chair and started typing up a doctor’s certificate. “If you experience anything else, don’t hesitate to return. Uh, stress can be taxing.”

 

 


End file.
